I distinctly recall hearing the prince say I was free to roam as I willed, which means I’m up and out the door before anyone has a chance to stop me.
The palace is empty, though it feels as though something watches me from every shadow. I catch a rush of movement out of the corner of my eyes, which means there are demi-fey there, though whether they serve the prince is unknown. They’re wilder fae, nature spirits and ethereal sprites that dance to their own whims. Sometimes vicious, sometimes capricious, entirely unpredictable.
Valerian may be called the City of the Dead now, but it was once known as the City of Dreams, thanks to its cocooning blanket of almost ever-present twilight. Magic kept the ice and cold out, and as I slip through the palace ruins, I realize the spell that shields the city from the worst of the weather must still be in place.
Silence echoes through the hallways.
Snow lingers in drifts on the carpets, as if it crept in through crevices unknown.
There’s no sign of the servants the prince promised were here, but there’s also no sign of him, which can only be a boon.
It’s in the heart of the palace, where snow drifts lightly against the walls, that I realize the true beauty of the place. The enormous inner courtyard is no courtyard at all, but the remnants of a ballroom. Glass shards crunch beneath my boots, and as I look up, I see the broken spans of stone that hint at the remains of a roof.
The moon shines directly overhead. It must have been a glassed roof once upon a time, built to take advantage of the ever-present night skies. A silvery blue light cascades over everything, and what is left of the ballroom mirrors refracts it back until the entire snowy room seems to glow.
A single pair of wraiths waltz slowly around the ballroom, caught by the ravages of time in a never-ending loop. They litter the streets of Valerian, an ethereal reminder of the war.
Its only as they sweep past one of the stone columns that supported the roof that a small piece of paper catches my eye.
It’s tucked inside a crevice in the column, and from this angle the moonlight falls directly upon it. Something about its placement seems furtive.
I pluck it from the stone, unfurling the small scroll.
If you’re reading this, then you’re being held by the Prince of Evernight. To escape this tangled web, you must discover what happened to his wife. Trust your instincts.
I freeze.
It’s written in a style similar to my own hand. Sloped Asturian letters. Someone else from my mother’s court, perhaps? Definitely feminine, judging by the looping scroll of the letters.
But who?
Another captive?
Blessed Maia, what if this isn’t the first time the prince has arranged for a ‘political hostage’? He swore not to touch me without my consent, but who knows what he has in mind? There’s a reason he’s isolated me from the rest of his people.
One question, however, haunts me. What happened to the woman who wrote this message?
And what does she mean, by finding out what happened to his wife?
It’s the sort of thing one doesn’t mention to one’s captor, especially when I know my mother played a role in it.
I’m so engrossed in the message that I don’t hear the soft pad of footsteps until it’s too late.
“You’re up early.”
My hand clenches shut around the paper, and I spin to find the prince sauntering down the snowy stairs.
He looks even more dangerous this… morning? The fur hem of his black cloak drags across the snowy steps, and a silver and black tunic glints in the moonlight. There’s no hint of softness in that face. Only sharp edges, and the feral glint of hunger in his eyes as he surveys me.
“Was I not meant to explore?” I reply, hiding my hand behind me like I’ve been caught with my hand in the safe.
“You may do as you like—”
“Except leave.”
“You can try to leave,” he points out, “which means Asturia breaks the treaty. But I won’t stop you.”
It’s not freedom, though he makes me feel as though I have the run of the castle.
“Here,” he says, sweeping aside his cloak and revealing the sword at his hip. He tugs it free of its scabbard and hands it to me, hilt first. “I thought you might enjoy sparring with me.”
“You’re handing me something sharp?”
“It’s less dangerous than your tongue.”
I take the sword, examining its edges. It’s beautiful and perfectly weighted, with a star engraved on its crossguard. It fits my hand as if made for it. A part of me longs for action. Another part rouses competitively at the thought of fighting him. I want to beat him, even as I consider the breadth of his shoulders and the strength in those arms. He’s enormous, but every inch of him is gilded with muscle, and I’ve seen how lightly he can move. “Thank you. But I think I shall have to decline.”
I hand the sword back.
There’s no expression on his face, but I feel his frustration. “I promise I’ll go easy on you.”
“Maybe I don’t want easy?” I stride past, boots crunching on the shards of glass until I reach the center of the ballroom.
Thiago takes two steps after me, then stills. “No. You wouldn’t. You’d never choose the easy path.”
My eyes narrow. It feels like there’s something unspoken in that statement. “I want to be alone.”
“Dismissed, just like that?” His amusement holds an edge of bitterness. “As you wish, Your Highness. You may consider yourself lucky. Business calls me away for several days. Eris will remain here to protect you.”
He turns, sweeping up the stairs.
“Where are you going?” I call after him.
I don’t want to be left behind here in these lonely ruins. Even by him.
His head turns to the side, offering me his profile but no insight. “Ceres.”
“May I come?”
“No.”
My shoulders stiffen. I don’t know why he’s chosen to bring me here when the seat of his power is the golden city of Ceres. It feels as though he’s hiding me away from the world.
“Your loss,” I reply, kicking glass out of the way casually.
“My loss?”
“How may I repay my debt when you’re not here?”
This time he turns, those enigmatic eyes sweeping over me. “I’ll hold your kisses in lieu.”
“I consider them forfeited.”
“I don’t.”
We stare at each other, but he breaks first, a smile dawning on his lips. “Until I return, Princess. Enjoy your stay, but don’t leave the city.”
The second he’s gone, I open the small scroll of paper again.
You must discover what happened to his wife….
The less I see of the prince, the better.
Though I can’t help wondering who left this here.
And whether it was meant for me or whether I’m only the last in a long line of ‘political’ captives.
8
Avoiding the prince is easier said than done.
After all, by my own hand, I owe him a kiss once a day, and while he grants me the grace of his absence for three days, he claims his prize when he returns, leaving me in no doubt as to his intentions.